


"Stop"

by Sukila



Series: Jeremy Heere Just Wants to Theatre [1]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: (and Brooke knows how to use that info), (it's highly ambigious as to how far it went), (with the Squip), Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chloe Valentine needs to Chill..., F/M, Friendship, Give Brooke Lohst characterisation 2k18, I Made Myself Cry, I rewrote the scene so it's actually different from the musical, I swear I'll explain this AU next time..., I'm Sorry, Jeremy Heere Is a Furry, Jeremy Heere is the lightest of lightweights, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Rape Aftermath, Rich sets no fire and Jake is a good friend, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Stuttering, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Notes, Tags Contain Spoilers, The Squip does not approve of suicide...!, Trauma, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 10:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14162487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sukila/pseuds/Sukila
Summary: Jeremy Heere did NOT sign up for this. Not for being treated like dirt and told to shape his image. To date Brooke and be encouraged to use her as a stepping stone. Definitely not the electric shocks every time he waved to Michael.But most certainly, he did not want...this! His arm moving of its own accord to chug the alcohol in hand, a ringing voice of Japanese within his mind as long nails dug into his hand and led him upstairs to 'meet Brooke.' Chloe.  Chloe pressing herself to warm, unclothed skin, Chloe artfully teasing and taking his breathy demands for her to stop as permission. Chloe pinning his hands above his head as his legs lay motionless and completely detached, his body stimulated and encouraged to watch through wordless commands of the Squip.He did NOT want Chloe. Only wanted a telling voice to finally declare when it was over, for his girlfriend's or best friend's hands to hold his own, and for the demanding voice of Jake Dillinger to come and put a stop to all the madness, even if it's what he deserves...(Jeremy Heere Just Wants to Theatre is an AU in which Jeremy got the Squip to be confident enough to sign up for the school play- prequel in progress).





	"Stop"

**Author's Note:**

> Note:  
> 'This is written words.'  
> "Any dialogue in italics is the Squip."
> 
> PS: Sorry, I accidentally posted it twice! Thanks to NotAGoodUsername for commenting on the other copy, heh!

“Hey Brooke!” He started, vaguely noting the distaste displayed by the Squip at his enthusiasm.

 

_“Just give her a vague compliment, your attitude is uncouth.”_

 

He nearly shook his head, “You look great!” He affirmed, reaching to admire the furry ears she had clipped on, “Are you a wolf?”

 

She smiled something bright and bold, face red but an easy air of confidence taking over, “Yeah, sort of! I figured ‘Sexy Cat’ was overdone so…” She did a twirl, “Sexy dog!”

 

Jeremy clapped, an easy smile to match hers on his face, blue eyes staying fixated on her fluffy tail with a bit of a flush; Brooke didn’t miss the effect it had. She put a hand on his cheek, lightly whispering a short farewell for drinks in a way that had him dizzy through the scolding as it echoed through his head.

 

_“Jeremy, what was that?”_

 

He couldn’t treat a girl like he was expected to, no one, really. It was why he kept giving Michael little waves of greeting, kept treating Brooke like a close friend rather than a stepping stone, and had long since regressed into habitual shyness. Besides, he’d rather be liked than thought of as some douche who thought of people as beneath him, it was something the Squip didn’t approve of, however.

 

 _“I can’t be lied to, you know? It’s easy to see what you_ **_really_ ** _want…”_

 

He knew. Deep down, he wanted to do more than survive, have a reputation, have a day not run by fear, a life not fueled by anxious adrenaline. But that wasn’t why he’d done it, he’d only wanted to sign up for the play without worry, something that left morals standing in the way.

 

It set off a sigh within his mind, _“So terrible, can’t even follow my instructions…”_

 

He knew that too… The thought was interrupted by a solo cup being thrust into his face, Chloe stood before him with an odd look, a smirk, even, “From Brooke,” she said.

 

Jeremy didn’t like the situation, didn’t like the idea that Brooke might be alone without her best friend, and especially didn’t like the look directed at him by the tall brunette. He said his thanks but didn’t drink, staring at the swill within the cup with mild distrust, always unsure of what he may do if drunk. He decided to look for Michael, his ride for tonight, already uncomfortable without either of his friends around.

 

Chloe thrust out an arm to stop him, “Well?” She asked, eyeing him and the drink.

 

“I- I don’t really-” He froze, legs locking in place and arm beginning to bend without permission, it burned going down as he was forced to chug it, interrupted thankfully by Rich as he passed by and bumped against anyone and everyone in a mad dash. Jeremy sputtered and coughed through the resounding fire, it was a near instant effect, vision blurred by the tears of reflex thanks to his choking and the weight of alcohol’s influence. Why had he done that?!

 

_“Gomennasai. Sore ga hitsuyōdeshita…” (Sorry. It was...necessary…)_

 

“Jeremy…! You don’t look too good! Are you a lightweight or something?” He flushed for yet another reason, an awful feeling brewing in his stomach, dread pooling along with it as her arm curled further around him, “Why don’t you lay down… With me?” The whisper burned his ear and he recoiled, tripping on his own frozen feet in an effort to escape, too late, it only proved her point further; she practically carried him off.

 

Colours blurred together in his haze of drunkness, vaguely aware of lack of movement in his legs and the movement of his throat to accept what he’d thought would be water… Should have known… “Brooke…?” He begged, suddenly terrified of the prospect of whatever it was he was in for behind closed doors, “Brooke?! Michael?!” He sobbed, far too quiet to make a dent in the noise as Chloe shushed him and gave empty reassurances.

 

“It’s alright! C’mon, you’re just drunk, I’ll find your girlfriends!” Girlfriend...s?

 

_“Chloe wa Michael ni tsuite hanashite iru.” (Chloe is talking about Michael)_

 

Very helpful.

 

_“Dōitashimashite.” (You’re welcome)_

 

He may not understand it but recognising sarcasm was easy enough. It was humorous but the lack of communication only made him more anxious, struggling through the nausea and a blurry-vision induced headache that much more. Then everything stopped. He lay on a soft surface, Chloe sat beside him with a satisfied look that his own face matched without permission, turning from tired and woozy into a smirk in a flash.

 

“Just faking it then? I figured. I bet a guy like you gets pretty eager, huh?” She came closer, tongue flicking against the shell of his ear in a repulsive way as she gave a sultry whisper, “Let’s piss off Jake…”

 

He whined, allowed only that one, horrible sound of distress that she seemed to take in with ease and pleasure, “Don’t worry… Don’t worry! I won’t tell Brooke…”

 

“N-No… Brooke…” He said, softly, a quiet sound he knew would never deter her just by the idea of the Squip allowing him to say it, yet his eyes begged as best they could in that desperate whimper. Not like this… Not like this…! Where had Brooke gone? She would stop her friend when she noticed he wasn’t around, right?

 

She shushed him again, “I know! I know! I won’t tell her, pretty boy!” She was so obviously drunk it hurt, hands reaching down to brush lightly against his lower body. He still couldn’t move, still couldn’t voice the distaste nor pull away from the lightweight but heavy touch. It was agonising to watch but his face couldn’t turn, forced to look on as she muttered little words of revenge and empty compliments meant to encourage what he obviously meant to deter. Japanese rattled off in his mind on occasion, little instructions he couldn’t understand that were lined with both a lack and increase of emotion depending on implications.

 

Her hands went places he’d rather no one go yet, mind screaming his lack of preparedness for the loss of his virginity to a pushy girl, hate-fucking her problems away; practically a stranger if it weren’t for the nagging thought that he’d be forced to see her every school day after... _this._ Against the will of the Squip, he felt the tears welling in his eyes as she arranged them just so and eased into it to the point where he wasn’t sure if he should be grateful for the slowness or forever resentful that all of the act would play in slow motion within his nightmares. That it would all be there, images bouncing about whenever he thought too long, felt too at ease, felt any sort of urge… A shock radiated against his spine, an urging to pay attention just as it all had finally melted away, it blurred between the tears and moans that spilled from each throat. Flashes of a colourful girl and the clothing she’d shed, of his own body as it was ravished before dilated, blue eyes as they took too long to blink and hid the fear under a blanket of drunken contentment.

 

“Chloe… Chloe please… Stop…!” He gasped, completely breathless in his pleas.

 

“Soon…” She’d coo back, completely unaware of the misery, the pain, of all the fear, “I’ll stop teasing soon, Jeremy, just let me play with you!”

 

A knocking on the door, rampant and fierce, _“Jeremy!_ You better not be having _sex_ on _my_ _parents’_ bed!”

 

“Jake?!” He shouted in surprise, a happy illusion to shatter the awful reality before it only escalated, Chloe’s voice ringing out to confirm the claim and mutually damn him to an awful future at the same time.

 

He shoved her off in a frantic motion as soon as he could feel his arms, he sputtered and shook, curling in on himself and shooting off fearful glances. Chloe seized his arm, desperate to invoke jealousy as she screamed her hateful phrases outside false moans of pleasure. The knocking stopped. Not again! Not again! He can’t go through that again!

 

“Chloe, what are you doing?!” Jake wrenches her away as soon as he catches sight of the snot-covered face of her supposed bedmate who flinches at the yell and even more so as the taller boy draws close, “...Jeremy? Are you okay?” He stops short, looking back at his ex, “Did she…?”

 

There are echoes of a computerised voice in his head, Japanese swirling into his own thoughts that were already too disorganised to function. He was tipsy, not quite drunk, uncomfortable, sweaty, and so terribly afraid… But it was _finally_ over, wasn’t it? Teary eyes begged for an answer as they finally let go, the control over his body finally fading as he shook and burst into sobs.

 

“Please… Please tell me it’s over…” He finally voiced, practically begging through the sharp jolts as words cut into sorrowful sounds.

 

Jake doesn’t look at Chloe, instead turning his attention to the comfort of the half-dressed kid he barely knew yet already accused of… He doesn’t dare finish the thought, instructing any who’d heard the commotion to either fuck off or get someone Jeremy knew to coax him back into his clothes.

 

“Yeah, Heere, it’s over. I promise.” Jake’s heart nearly broke at the grateful look he was shot, rough sobs turning quieter until Jeremy’s breathing evened, not quite asleep but detached enough not to be panicked any longer; his eyes still dripped with a constant stream of liquid despite it.

 

It was Brooke who arrived first, Michael nowhere to be seen despite his car still parked outside. She wasn’t dumb, knew he wouldn’t respond to her as well as his friend of many years before, yet she still marveled at the soft smile he gave when she drew close. Brought his hands to the fluffy ears on her head just like before, the reminder calming him as she replaced his shirt and wrapped the blue cardigan around him; he’d lent it to her just the day before. Brooke felt a deep stab of emotion in seeing it, a symbol of yesterday, so different from today yet so close to it; it left her when he gratefully curled into her embrace.

 

She looked about the room and saw the evidence, furniture knocked on the floor and blankets unkempt like the red hair she now slowly ran a hand through. Chloe’s phone on the bedside table that accompanied a pink jacket, coloured stains far down on the mattress but clear all across one pillow… Her chest hurt at the thought of her best friend being capable of it, of the hurt that may have been caused to someone close _by_ someone even closer.

 

“Oh, Jeremy…” She sympathetically whined, holding him firmly in her soft embrace and trying to give whatever comfort she could to one so wronged, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…!” She reaffirmed, shaking a little and forever scarred with the knowledge of what had been done in the very room they still sat within, not to mention, what was attempted.

 

“Jeremy? I thought you left me, man! What-?” Brooke held his friend close, sobbing her eyes out and apologising in a guilty manner, his face darkened but was cut short as he caught her gaze sweeping about the room again with a horrified look.

 

She saw him looking for the answer, and she gave it, “Chloe… She…” Then watched as his mind put the pieces together, and she saw her own expression mirrored in his face. He was angry but didn’t dare leave and face the drunk face of the aggressor as he eyed the bruises from where limbs struggled and the dried stains of tears across a freckled face.

 

“Can you keep him calm? He can’t wake up here…” Michael looked at her with an almost shocked look as she handed off her boyfriend with a pathetically unsure stare.

 

He put her hands back to Jeremy’s arms and they shared a stare that made each feel like they were seeing each other for the first time, at least, the first _real_ time, “C’mon… Help me get him to my car…”

 

The house was empty of the party it had held, music stopped and most either passed out or gone already. Jake stood with a solemn look, Rich’s hand in his grasp as the short boy struggled and fought, stopping only when he saw the pair bringing his fellow Squipped downstairs. Upon seeing his state he immediately burst into tears and ceased his attempts to tug his arm from Jake’s grasp.

 

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I should be dead…!” He mumbled, throat sore and voice cracking halfway through the statement; the words could barely be heard over the lisping emotion but were listened to well enough by his friend. Jake patted his back, still in shock but welcome to a distraction as he stooped down to take him into his arms; they both needed the comfort in that moment.

 

The scene was passed by, to be dealt with and spoken of later, hopefully, long after they’d gotten Jeremy somewhere else. Brooke meant to part ways with them after reaching the car but… Chloe had been the one to drive her. Not that it mattered, Michael insisted she come along anyway, noting the sincere concern for their mutual friend. The drive was quiet but in an almost pleasant way, a calm and quiet moment amidst the panic and shock, that is, until Jeremy groaned. A small sound, almost tiny in comparison to the night they’d all just fought through, pained and unnatural as puffs of breath came quicker. The quiet died down, broken by mutual sobs as dry eyes grew wet once more in less than a second, almost like a warning that it wasn’t okay, that more tears would still come. But at least… They shared another long glance from the front seats, at least they were both there for him…

 

A good thing, considering he woke up in a panic, screaming ‘Stop’ as though he’d be forced to fall silent the moment he stopped for breath. Arms were there to hold him, a familiar scent to calm and assure there was no presence of the girl who’d dragged him off. Head of long blonde and another of sweet shortness, neither an unpleasant remainder of the long, brunette locks of before. And no one talked about the mumbles of that same refusal throughout sleepy hours, about the long night of fear but calm at the same time, and Brooke didn’t dare ask about Michael’s whispered words of assurance that ‘the voice in your head is wrong,’ between ‘it’s not your fault.’

 

They slept through Sunday.

 

Then skipped the next Monday.

 

And at no point did they even consider splitting up the group nor leaving Michael’s house for anything.

 

Until, on Tuesday, Jeremy was left to his own devices after much protest, Brooke avoiding her frien- avoiding _Chloe,_ with a vengeance as she and Michael collected their missed work; it was Christine who told Mr. Reyes that Jeremy wouldn’t be there on opening night. Oddly enough, the man seemed concerned, for once, about something other than food breaks, having known of the... _enthusiasm_ from a few _particular_ students when it came to rehearsal; though just thinking of it gave him a headache…

 

Chloe was equally absent despite little memory of the event by Brooke’s prodding, probably just nursing the previous day’s hangover. One more day left to prepare for the awkward encounter as internal battles are raged over a drunken status that, no doubt, had already made Jeremy cast away the blame, and wonders over her conscious, exactly where her mind had gone at the time of that night…

 

Still, research was done, Michael inspiring a grateful tone to their interactions thanks to all the time spent squirreled away for the sake of both his friend and a former tormentor. It was almost a marvel that he found the time to be at Jeremy’s side, bitching out a demon he himself couldn’t even see for all it had caused and broken. Encouraging the end to repetition, to the ever repeated phrases, the only obedience he’d ever shown and kept to since the thing had tried to make better behaviour into objectifying. So when Jeremy rattled on in a silence only broken by deprecation, there was Michael, casting aside internet forums for those harsher moments; though it only made the panicked feel worse about himself afterwards despite the comfort and assurance at the time.

 

So even when they find an answer… Does he deserve that solution? He traced the wrist scars that ran down his arms and arched upwards to his back, absentmindedly rubbing at the raised skin as he lost himself to the haze of his mind. He knew he couldn’t reach for it himself, that his body was not his own when it came to killing the voice within. Still, he acted as though he could while thinking, warming up to the idea that it was his own choice but unsure and upset that he hesitated in both the physical and mental sense. Why…? Why would any part of him ever want the shocking pain and stinging insults of a self-esteem ruining computer?

 

_“Lack of confidence.”_

 

An annoyed look formed on his face as it chimed in, “I didn’t ask-”

 

 _“Yes you did, Jeremy,”_ It decided, approaching and falsifying the physical feeling of a breath and hand on his face in an uncomfortable manner, _“You’re genuinely curious as to why you’d be attached to something that hurt you but the reality is you’re afraid-”_ It smiled, _“It’s why you bother Michael and keep him from helping, why you’re unsure even now, because… Deep down, you just want things to be easy.”_

 

He hates the false touch and all it’s coldness, can’t bear to swat at the hand and, instead, wrenches his face to the side, it lets go but ghosts along his shoulders; he shivers.

 

“Yeah, well-! Who wants things to be hard…?” Is all he can ask, completely at a loss as he drowns in shame despite his claims, “I didn’t ask for any of this… I just wanted to sign up for the school play without getting called out…!”

 

 _“And you failed that. If you’d only gone with Chl-”_ It cuts itself off so as not to induce annoyance, _“That_ **_girl’s_ ** _suggestions, you wouldn’t have been in any danger of teasing.”_

 

“B-But… How could you _e-ever_ try and m-make me do that?!” He demands, “Do you know what that did to my mind…?”

 

_“It was necessary-”_

 

“Necessary?!”

 

The anger was tangible on the illusion’s face through the scolding, _“You wanted to be confident, wanted to be seen well even if you signed up for things like theatre. In case you didn’t notice, the reputation we’ve been going for as someone cool and chill would help you off the track of judgement. Things like dating a popular girl-”_

 

“Brooke…? But I did _that,_ why was… W-Why was anything _else_ ‘necessary?’”

 

 _“I didn’t_ **_expect_ ** _you to treat her like a sister. Dating her made_ **_no_ ** _progress towards your goal because_ **_you_ ** _never listened; it made you look like putty in her hands, that’s not-”_

 

“I get it, alright?! ‘That’s not cool!’ Well I _never asked_ to be chill!”

 

**_“Then why is it still what you want?”_ **

 

“I- I d-don’t!”

 

The Squip came close again, clinging in a frightening manner as the icy feeling spread once more, _“So you_ **_want_ ** _to be terrible, Jeremy?”_

 

He felt tears well in his eyes as he gave in to himself but not the figure before him, at least, by his own judgement, “If that’s what it takes,” He said in a quiet mutter, voice cracking at the end as emotion took over logic or, maybe, the other way around.

 

_“For what?”_

 

He struggled to answer, “I- I don’t know… I j-just don’t want to be afraid anymore… I d-don’t wanna b-bother Michael ag-g-gain…! Or B-Brooke…!”

 

_“Jeremy.”_

 

“Everything about me is just terrible…”

 

_“Jeremy!”_

 

“Everything about me…” He paused, pushing back a sob, “Makes me wanna _die…”_

 

_“Jeremy, this isn’t the answer-!”_

 

“Shutdown!” He nearly yelled, voice catching at the last moment. He counted off three seconds to relish in the quiet before picking himself up, the Mountain Dew Red falling onto the carpet, unopened and fizzy from the shake. Jeremy didn’t notice through the haze of thoughts engulfing everything with a thick smoke, the only emotion being sorrow, the only feeling being the heaviness in his heart.

 

And there, in the back of his mind was the greatest betrayal of thought, because, in that moment, he had never felt more confident in his choice.

 

“Pathetic. Ugly. Pitiful. A chore. A slob. Worthless. Terrible-” He eyes his hands, coated in sweat and wetness from teary eyes, slightly stained with graphite dust from the note he’d just written, spares a single glance at the journal’s title from the beginning of the year, “A mistake.”

 

And although it’s a risk, he knows he cannot leave behind nothing, if only for the sake of his favourite person that he cares for so deeply, for the girl the didn’t deserve to be left behind by the one friend whose treated her right, and for everyone whose lives he shouldn’t have ruined with his inclusion; his dad included. To all them it was the only apology he could muster outside standing before them and knowing they would try and stop what was about to happen.

 

The Mountain Dew Red lay abandoned on the bathroom tiles, rolling in as he opened the door and looked away from his reflection the moment he remembered the mirror above the counter. He could have laughed, the Squip probably would have were it less serious, it was almost poetic, in a way, a life that was both started, changed, and ended by pills of all different kinds. Antidepressants having long since been left neglected in their place by the sink, one of the only things he’d hidden from Michael. With blurry eyes he popped two but knew he couldn’t wait long enough for the breathless sorrow to ease, knew he’d lose his nerve as soon as it reappeared. Instead, he considered the medicine as it sat within the purple bottle, larger doses still wrapped in silver and carefully divided as opposed to the yellow circles he now stared down.

 

He sat on the cold, tile floor, head in his hands before considering the bottle in hand once more, anything, without moderation, can make a person meet their end, couldn’t it? His own voice filled the emptiness of his head in those seconds of questioning as if to answer himself:

 

 _“Irony, irony, irony… Jeremy…”_ And it sounded so alien he couldn’t help the yank of his arm upward in a familiar motion from the party just a few nights before. Nor the completely new frenzy as an alternate hand threw aside a brightly coloured bottle.

 

There was no burn, that time, just a hollow thought before he slid down to the ground and drowned in the liquid that had filled his headspace.

 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed by the time he woke up, wasn’t even sure why he did, only of the excruciating pain taking place as he shrieked. Of the little coos by someone nearby as his eyes squeezed shut and filled with pained tears, hands wrenched his fingers from his own hair as he pulled at it, holding with one and giving soft pats with the other. By the time the white-hot pain and vague buzzing had stopped he was asleep again, completely exhausted.

 

The second time he _was_ sure, two days, thirteen hours, plus eight and a half minutes he was near certain Michael had counted down to the last nanosecond despite leaving it unsaid. In his friend’s hands, bent from the harsh clench of worried hands, was the half-filled bottle of Mountain Dew Red, in Brooke’s, who sat near with an equally worried expression, was a crumpled note, torn from a journal that sat by her side; it was labeled, ‘My Mistakes.’

 

And they said things he never could’ve expected:

 

“I’m so proud of you, Jere…”

 

“I’m so happy you didn’t, Jeremy!”

 

Happy tears that reminded him of the vague memory, a blurred mess as he sat on the bathroom floor and snatched up a red bottle, fumbling only as his hands were scratched up by the cap. Can recall himself throwing the purple pill bottle through the open door and hearing it shatter as he held the plastic tight. He knew the fear, the terrible, gutch-wrenching fear in hearing his voice sound so much like it in that moment…

 

Jeremy, in a fear-filled stupor, had actually managed to _do something right._ But… Was it?

 

“Did I… D-Did I do th-th-the r-right thing?” He had to ask, grimacing as their faces fell, because he just wasn’t sure, no voice to tell him so, nobody to tell him he wasn’t in the wrong for even trying.

 

Michael simply hoisted himself over the railings of the bed and scooped him up in a messy embrace, carting a hand through his hair just like in that memory, just like before they’d been nearly forced apart… After a few moments and the meeting of their looks, Brooke did the same, letting her arms snake around his body with a comforting weight and a thankful lack of any reminder of Halloween night as she whispered soft words. Jeremy remained unsure of what to do, nearly overwhelmed despite the surge of warmth in his heart from the contact.

 

That is, until Michael spoke once more, “You did, Jere-bear, I promise you did. No matter what that thing said, I need you just as much…”

 

“I-” He stopped, faltering as the words refused to come out, “I-”

 

Brooke met his gaze with a sad smile and rocked him a bit, “Just let us know if you want us to stop, okay? Thinking of that night must be hard… All of it must be… But I swear we want you here.”

 

“It- It was… I- I’m sorry…!”

 

Each stared at him with such a loving gaze, like he was everything, Brooke shook her head, Michael copied with mutters of quiet reassurance, little words that assured he had no need for any more apologies. Even as he rambled on and on their words rang the same and resonated through his own sputters with a certainty he had never known either to so vehemently possess.

 

Because all they wanted him to know was that he mattered.

 

And even if it would take time, he would feel safe knowing they wouldn’t abandon him the moment he grew uncomfortable or push even farther into territory he’d rather avoid.

 

He loved them just for knowing who they were and knowing he could say ‘stop.’

 

And they loved him right back for all the same reasons.

 

And while it might just be a path to explore later, they were content, for now, with just being present in the lives of those who cared; all of them.

 

That Friday, they went home, back to Jeremy’s house, and just spoke in hushed tones full of emotion without any care at all.

 

It was the best night any had had in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> ‘I’m sorry that I only ever mess things up.  
> I’m sorry I’m a waste of space.  
> I’m sorry I’m a waste of time.  
> I’m so sorry I’m such a burden.  
> I’m sorry I can’t ever do anything right.
> 
> If I could turn back time, I swear that I would, that I’d use it to make it up to you.  
> I know I’m a mess and it’s the last thing you need, so I’ll say I love you both and go.
> 
> I’m so sorry that I wasted your time because you really do mean a lot to me and I hope you have a very nice life because I really do think you deserve it. I really do. I hope you do, too. Okay, then. Goodbye.’


End file.
